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Bacca and the Skeleton King

Page 14

by Jerome ASF


  “That,” he said, pointing at the bony blade that rested on the sandstone display in the center of the pool, “is the Bonesword.”

  “Wait, then this … ?” Bacca said, holding up the blade in his hands.

  “ … is also the Bonesword,” the skeleton added.

  “mmmmUh-oh,” said Dug. “Now I’m confused. How can they both be the Bonesword? Is there more than one? The Zombie King didn’t say anything about that.”

  Bacca looked over at the sword on the sandstone table. An idea struck him. As Dug and the skeleton watched, Bacca waded out into the pool and snatched the other sword. Then he waded back out and held both blades next to one another, comparing them.

  “These are two swords carved from the same femur,” Bacca said.

  “Correct,” said Tibia.

  “But where one has carvings of ancient zombie history on it, this other one has engravings of … ancient skeletons!” Bacca said.

  “mmmmWhat?” said Dug. “Let me see.”

  Bacca handed over the swords to his apprentice. Dug held them up to the light streaming down from the openings far above and carefully examined them. Bacca was right! The carvings running down the blade of this second sword were clearly of skeletons. And both swords had come from the same bone.

  “mmmmTwo Boneswords?” Dug asked. “What does this mean?”

  “I’ve got some pretty good guesses,” Bacca said, “but I’ll bet our friend can tell us for certain.”

  They both looked at Tibia.

  “Indeed, I can,” said the skeleton. There was a hint of sadness in the skeleton’s bony voice. He had no features to read, but his shoulders slumped as if he now recalled a great tragedy.

  “The weapons you hold both date from ancient times,” Tibia continued. “Thousands of years ago, there was a knowledge that today has been lost. But by solving the puzzle that took you into this room, you may have an inkling of it. Zombies come from villagers, and skeletons come from zombies. In ancient times, zombies and skeletons both knew this truth. Together they forged a weapon called the Bonesword to forever recognize this tie that bound them. The Bonesword was split into two parts, with one given to the skeletons and one to the zombies. But like so many ancient truths, its meaning was lost down the generations. The zombies kept their Bonesword in a special chamber and used it for ceremonies. But after a few thousand years, they thought that was all it was—a thing for ceremonies. In contrast, the ancient skeletons hid their Bonesword here, in the Fortress of Confusion, where it was protected by clever traps. Only someone with a great knowledge of skeleton lore—and some great crafting skills, to boot—would be able to find it. These measures were intended to keep the skeleton’s Bonesword safe. Instead, because the traps and puzzles were so difficult to beat, it made them forget about it completely. As the years passed, the Fortress of Confusion became known as a strange place full of magical traps, but with no real purpose. It goes without saying, the true magic was forgotten.”

  “The true magic?” said Bacca.

  “When the Boneswords were created, the zombies and skeletons poured into it all of the ancient magic they knew,” said Tibia. “Individually, neither of the swords has any special power. But when they are combined with one another … it can unleash a mighty force that the Overworld has not seen in many ages.”

  “mmmmHow do you know all of this?” asked Dug. The young zombie had no reason to doubt the skeleton, but the tale was so spectacular! It was a complete rewriting of everything he’d been taught in zombie history class.

  “I know this because I have read the ancient books I found here,” said Tibia, indicating the room with the library. “The books tell the story of how the Bonesword was forged. I have had many years to read them.”

  “mmmmWhy are you even still here?” Dug pressed. “It doesn’t seem like a very fun way to spend your time. The Skeleton King told us you ran away after he became king. That was thousands of years ago.”

  Tibia looked sad again.

  “Do you know how the skeletons choose a leader?” the skeleton asked.

  “Your brother mentioned some kind of contest,” Bacca said.

  “When the time comes for a new skeleton king or queen, candidates undergo the Trial of Fire,” Tibia explained. “It involves several different challenges. An obstacle course. Various feats of strength. At one point, you even have to wrestle an iron golem! I won’t bore you with the details. The important thing is that the final test—the one for which the trial takes its name—involves seeing who can stay out in the sunlight for an extended period of time. Given what sunlight does to skeletons, you can imagine how hard this is.

  “The last time there was a Trial of Fire, only my brother and I were left at the final test. With the skeleton elders watching and our friends cheering us on, we walked out of the temple and into the bright sunshine. I thought that my brother’s bones looked especially shiny that day. In the moment, I didn’t think much of it. I was concentrating on the test. Maybe I thought he was just sweaty from wrestling the iron golem … which, looking back, should have made me very suspicious, because skeletons don’t sweat. Anyway, I stayed out in the horrible, burning sunlight for as long as I could, but the pain became too severe. I felt myself drained to a fraction of a heart of life. I couldn’t take it any longer, and I jumped back into the shade. My brother knew that he had won. He stayed there in the sun, and lifted his glistening arms above his head in victory.

  “Only later that evening did it put it all together. His bones were glistening because he had covered them with oil. He cheated! The oil was protection from the sun. Now I knew he had not won at all, but by the time I realized this, it was too late. Skeleton coronations are practically instantaneous. When I saw my brother again, he had already washed all the evidence off his bones and they were putting the crown on his head.”

  Dug raised his brow in astonishment.

  “mmmmThen that means you are … ”

  “The real Skeleton King,” Bacca said.

  Tibia nodded solemnly.

  “mmmmWhat happened after your brother was crowned?” Dug asked.

  “I ran away,” said Tibia. “I didn’t tell anybody where I was going. Many people thought I left for another biome, or for another server plane entirely. But I came here, to the Fortress of Confusion. I have lived here ever since. I tried to keep my hiding place a secret, but it seems that over the centuries the other skeletons have learned where I am.”

  “mmmmThat’s a sad story,” Dug said.

  “I try to make the best of it here,” said Tibia. “There’s plenty to read, and I’ve made friends with the magic sheep. He’s part of the fortress, but he comes out to play every now and then.”

  “mmmmBut it’s not right. You should be king!”

  “Yeah, I’m inclined to agree with Dug,” Bacca said. “When I see that so-called Skeleton King again, he and I are going to have words. In the meantime, we really need to get the zombie’s Bonesword back to them so that this needless fighting stops. So let’s not waste any more ti—”

  Bacca paused mid-sentence. Something had stopped him cold. The echo of strange footsteps unexpectedly reverberated behind them. Someone was walking up the ramp. Bacca, Dug, and Tibia looked at one another.

  “Are you expecting anyone?” Bacca asked.

  Tibia shook his head no.

  Bacca put his finger to his lips to say they should all be quiet. Then he raised his diamond axe and crept near the edge of the ramp. For a moment, Bacca just listened. Whoever it was, they were walking slowly. Almost … zombishly slow. An idea occurred to Bacca, and he stuck his head around the corner to confirm it.

  Loping up the ramp was a familiar-looking zombie in shining diamond armor.

  “You!” Bacca said furiously, rising to his full height.

  “mmmmWait, I can explain!” Drooler said, lifting his upturned palms to beg for mercy.

  “You’ve got a lot of nerve coming here!” Bacca continued.

  Bacca stalke
d to where Drooler cowered and grabbed him by the scruff of the neck. Bacca marched him back up to Tibia and Dug.

  “This is the one who caused all of this mess,” Bacca said, plopping the zombie down in front of the skeleton. “He stole the Bonesword from the zombies because he thought they’d make him the new zombie king! Can you believe it?”

  “mmmmI know,” whimpered Drooler. “I’m so sorry. It was wrong!”

  “What is he doing here?” Tibia asked.

  Bacca had been so filled with rage at the sight of the zombie that he had not paused to ask this question. Now he thought it was a pretty good one.

  “What are you doing here, Drooler?” Bacca pressed. “Explain yourself.”

  “mmmmSomething new has happened. Something horrible. I need your help!”

  “You want our help?” Bacca said. “After what you’ve done? Don’t make me laugh.”

  “mmmmNot just me,” Drooler said. “All the zombies are in trouble. Every zombie in Gravehome. And every person in the Overworld!”

  “I’ll give you 30 seconds to tell me more,” Bacca said. “And this had better be good.”

  “mmmmIt’s the witches,” Drooler stammered quickly. “They made a deal with The Spirit of the Taiga. In return for a dragon egg—which, um, someone gave it—the spirit agreed to clear the zombies out of Gravehome and give it to the witches. But I know those witches. They won’t stop there. Once they figure out they can use The Spirit of the Taiga, they’ll keep doing it. Nowhere will be safe. So I went and told the Skeleton King. He sent his troops to help defend Gravehome, but that might only hold them off for a while. The Spirit of the Taiga is very strong. I know there is also an old prophecy that one day the Bonesword will save the zombies in their hour of need. I think maybe this is that hour. So that’s why I’m here.”

  There was a moment of silence as Drooler’s words sank in. Bacca hated to admit it, but the situation did sound serious.

  “My brother may be a cheater, but it was nice of him to send help,” Tibia mused. “All things considered.”

  “I just hope it isn’t too little, too late,” Bacca said. “You don’t mess with biome spirits. They are tough characters. As long as you stay on their good sides, they’re fine. But once you make them angry … Let’s just say it’s a whole other ballgame.”

  “Our path is clear,” Tibia said. “We must take the Boneswords—both of them—to Gravehome. With any luck, the swords’ ancient magic will be enough to defeat The Spirit of the Taiga. Otherwise … Well, I don’t want to think about the alternative.”

  Bacca quickly agreed. He didn’t want to think about it either.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Gravehome was under siege. The attacks against it were so ferocious that the very rocks comprising the mountain fortress seemed to shake and vibrate. Dust flew. Things fell over. Parts of the ceiling dislodged and crashed to the ground. More than once already, the Zombie King’s crown had been jostled off of his head. (Because of this, he now carried it in his hand.)

  “mmmmSire, we must move you somewhere safer!” cried his guards.

  But the king refused to move down to the dungeons. Neither would he consider making a break for it and escaping from Gravehome entirely. This was his fortress. This was the zombies’ fortress, and he was their king. Whatever happened, he was going to stay right where he was.

  For nearly a full day, the Spirit of the Taiga had been attacking Gravehome—throwing itself at the fortress as hard as it could. It started by running across the top of Gravehome, knocking over most of the cool-looking headstones that adorned the fortress. Then it jumped up and down on top of the mountain, causing it to vibrate in a terrifying manner. Then it felt for any soft spots in the fortress and dug madly into them, like a dog burying a bone—except the spirit was digging for zombies. Then it tried sticking its paws and muzzle into Gravehome’s various entrances, trying to grab any zombies it could.

  Several times, detachments of brave zombies had ventured out fight the spirit. And each time they had been beaten back. The Spirit of the Taiga stepped on the zombies with its enormous paws, and picked them up and flung them hundreds of feet away with its enormous jaws. (Being composed largely of rotting flesh, zombies were not particularly tasty. It was only for this reason that they avoided being eaten.) The zombies tried every weapon in their arsenal against the enormous wolf, but it seemed they could do no meaningful damage. After the tenth attack failed to result in anything other than smooshed zombies, the king had called them off.

  The spirit’s action had surprised and confused everyone, especially the king. Usually, biome spirits were peaceful, as long as you stayed out of their way. Sure, some had reputations as tricksters or liked to play pranks, but the Zombie King could not recall one being destructive for no reason. So what was this spirit up to?

  The king got up from his throne, put his crown back on his head, and headed for one of Gravehome’s upper exits.

  “mmmmDon’t go out there!” his attendants cried. “That thing is too powerful! It’ll rip you to shreds!”

  “mmmmIf I do nothing, it will rip this entire fortress to shreds!” the king retorted, and brushed past the other zombies. As the fortress shook and shuddered under the spirit’s violent attacks, the king wound his way up through the tunnels that took him near the surface. He opened a hatch in the ceiling, and crawled out into a once-ornate mausoleum on the side of Gravehome. The Spirit of the Taiga had recently smashed it to ruins.

  The Zombie King got his bearings and saw the Spirit of the Taiga throwing its shoulder into the side of the fortress. It took several steps back, then ran forward at full tilt until it crashed into the fortress wall. Then it did it again.

  “mmmmHey!” cried the king. “Come over here and talk to me … you, you … overgrown hound!”

  The Spirit of the Taiga looked to see who had addressed it. Then its eyes lit on the king and it smiled evilly. The spirit loped up the side of the mountain until it stood beside the Zombie King. The giant wolf towered over the zombie. The spirit was panting hard from all its violent activity. Its hot breath fogged the air around the king.

  “mmmmWhy are you doing this to us?” demanded the king. “We zombies have no quarrel with you. Did the skeletons put you up to this?”

  The spirit laughed. The king was surrounded by even more fog.

  “The skeletons?” it said. “What are you talking about? I don’t know anything about any skeletons. I’m not doing this for them.”

  “mmmmThen why?” said the king.

  “Let’s just say that someone gave me a present I liked,” said the spirit. “I agreed to do a favor in return for that present. And that favor just happened to be clearing all of the zombies out of Gravehome.”

  The king was baffled. Clearing all the zombies out of Gravehome? It was unthinkable! How could he stop this from happening?

  “mmmmWhat if I gave you a gift?” the king said, thinking quickly. “There’s got to be something in our treasury that you want!”

  “My current employer gave me a Dragon Egg,” bragged the spirit. “Have you got anything that beats a Dragon Egg?”

  “mmmmI … Um … Uh … ” the Zombie King hesitated. He did a quick mental inventory of all the baubles in his treasury. The king had many exotic items, but nothing quite like that.

  Suddenly, a loud voice sounded from the foot of the mountain below them.

  “Don’t you give that jerk anything!”

  Both the king and the spirit turned, and both were astonished by what they saw.

  While they had been talking, an enormous skeleton army had moved into place in front of Gravehome. There were thousands of skeleton troops of all types. Skeletons wearing heavy armor readied themselves for a frontal assault. Skeleton spider jockeys had massed into cavalry formation, and were preparing to charge. And of course there were archers—thousands and thousands of skeleton archers stood in formations stretching back nearly to the horizon!

  Leading this enormous army was th
e Skeleton King. He was wearing battle armor and an armored crown.

  “Hey doggie doggie doggie,” the Skeleton King clicked tauntingly. “Someone told us you were looking for a fight. Why don’t you leave those zombies alone and come play with us for a while?”

  The Spirit of the Taiga did not like being referred to as “doggie.” He glared at the Skeleton King and his eyes narrowed. The Skeleton King stretched out the string of his bow like an athlete warming up before a big game. The Spirit of the Taiga had never seen these skeletons before. He didn’t know why they’d come to pick a fight with him. They were certainly not involved in his agreement to clear out Gravehome.

  But they had said it. The dreaded “D-word.” There could be no turning back.

  Certainly—the Spirit of the Taiga thought to itself—there must be time to take a little break from attacking Gravehome to deal with these rude visitors.

  “Hey doggie,” the Skeleton King said. “Did you hear me? I’m talking to you!”

  The king nocked and arrow and let it fly. It struck the spirit right on the tip of the nose, one of the only places its thick fur did not offer protection.

  The Spirit of the Taiga angrily brushed aside the Zombie King with its enormous paw. The king was not expecting this, and flew headlong into a tombstone.

  Then the spirit leaped down the side of the fortress into the fields of skeletons below. Thousands of arrows sailed through the air. One set of giant teeth gnashed. Little bits of broken skeleton began to fly.

  The Zombie King hardly had time to think. Clutching his head, which he’d banged on the tombstone, he crawled back through the hatch into Gravehome.

  “mmmmGenerals! Generals!” he called at the top of his voice.

  They were right there. All of his top generals—and everybody else on his staff—had gathered below the hatch to see what was happening.

  “mmmmGenerals … get every zombie you can spare!” the king cried. “Open the gates and charge!”

  “mmmmSire?” one said, as though afraid he had not heard the king correctly.

  “mmmmThere’s no time to explain!” the king cried. “This is the best chance we’ll ever have to defeat the spirit. And if you see any skeletons—”

 

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